


Patch

by TheAfterglow



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Skating, And maybe... some spy stuff?, Angst, Defectors not defective, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, First Time, Komrades to Lyubovniki, Loss of Virginity, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, The Cutting Edge feels, Training Montage, Winter Olympics, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21902359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAfterglow/pseuds/TheAfterglow
Summary: He is nineteen when he first sees her.She comes to the rink alone, laces her skates alone, strokes warm-up circles alone...He looks at her, really looks her in the eye, and he decides he likes what he sees.She may be young, but she is hungry and angry, and for now? That’s enough for him.It’s not like he has a lot of options.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 407
Kudos: 352





	1. Chapter 1

_1981_

_Moscow_

He is nineteen when he first sees her.

She comes to the rink alone, laces her skates alone, strokes warm-up circles alone. 

“Give it a chance,” his uncle urges before going to take his seat by the federation officials. “You don’t have a lot of options.” 

_Options_. It is a nice word for dead-end. His first partner, Phasma, had grown too tall by the time they were sixteen. Lucky for her, the state was just beginning its women’s hockey program and she was already a demon of a skater. 

His second had gotten herself knocked up by her boyfriend, the son of a party official who was able to secure a posting abroad where the scandal could unfold quietly. 

There was no way they would last. 

He pushes back from the boards and trails the girl around and around the ice under the flags hung by the scoreboard.

It is 5:30 in the morning. 

Her posture suggests ballet training: good _port de bras_ , extension and energy through the tips of her fingers. That’s not surprising, since every little girl does ballet at some point. 

Her feet are another matter. She seems clumsy on the skates, making him wonder if they don’t fit her just right, and she pumps with her back in her crossovers as though she isn’t strong enough to maintain her carriage.

He huffs against the bead of irritation in his middle. This is the fourth girl the federation has brought to try-outs and while he has some say, he knows his reputation precedes him and that his mother’s influence can only smooth so many feathers. 

They want their champion, and he is partnerless, again, three years from the Games.

He catches his uncle’s flick of his hand out of the corner of his eye and digs in, pushing harder now to catch up with her. 

She is skating backwards, warming up her shoulders when he reaches her. 

“So you’re the girl I’ve heard so much about,” he tries, knowing it sounds haughty. He hasn’t heard anything about her. She wasn’t even on the novice national team last year.

She looks up at him but does not respond. Her face is more angular with her hair back in its ponytail, and she looks even thinner than her black and white id photo in the file his uncle showed him. 

Rey Skaia--an orphan’s name from a nowhere place, no patronymics or nicknames listed in her bio.

But she is small, barely as tall as his chest, and she has dark hair like his. Apparently looks are that all that matters to officials in this sport. They could be brother and sister. 

She stops circling her shoulders and he barely catches her retort as she turns away from him, picking up speed.

“Well, I hear you’re a monster!”

Her jab hits him harder than it should. Who is she to call him names? He has two world junior titles to his name and his uncle is a respected coach who was Olympic champion with his mother when they were young. 

He won’t let it go and catches up with her too easily. She’s so slight her strokes don’t have much power yet and he grabs her gloved hand.

She shakes him off but he refuses to be brushed aside.

“Well, maybe you heard right,” Ben snarls as he captures her hand once more. “I am a monster, and you’re a nobody in my rink.” 

“Stop--taking--my--hand!” She wrenches it away and crosses her arms protectively over her non-existent chest. Her eyes flash as she slides to a stop, her blades throwing a small shower of ice to the side. 

He circles her, hands on his hips. The ice crunches as he leans into the curve, getting closer and closer before coming to a stop facing her. 

Her breath makes small puffs in the freezing morning air as she stares him down.

He looks at her, really looks her in the eye, and he decides he likes what he sees. 

She may be young, but she is hungry and angry, and for now? That’s enough for him. 

It’s not like he has a lot of options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a maniac! First, if you haven't read [Blades Crossed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8990419/chapters/20541484), you should! It is a most excellent Reylo/Cutting Edge adaptation and those are pretty much two of my favorite things. Honestly, if you cut me open, I am pretty much equally a SW fan as I am a skating fan. 
> 
> The title--Patch--is a nickname for school figures, the patterns that used to be required (hence the name, "figure skating") as part of [skating training and competition](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compulsory_figures). They were no longer required in competition as of 1988 and this, in part, ushered in the modern era of skating that focuses so heavily on jumps. 
> 
> Thanks to @nancylovesreylo for encouraging me to start this, even though I have another fic in the works that I really ought to be chipping away at. 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr @ theafterglow-writes!


	2. Chapter 2

The January sky is still littered with stars when he wakes, eyes searching the darkness above his bed. 

Forty-two years young, and he can feel every one as he rolls upright. He feels year seventeen, when his shoulder went out of place and he didn’t rest enough to let it heal. The way his wrist twinges sometimes makes him wish he could just cut the whole hand off. The winter causes it to act up, but he has no time for warmer climes that would ease the ache. 

Still, he counts his luck as he pushes the heavy velvet drapes back from his window and a puff of cold air reaches his face. The city still glows with artificial lighting, the concrete block towers and onion domes backlit at the horizon. 

His hard work affords him this view, every day. A higher floor, a bigger window, closer to a nice park. Even if he can only dream of the Black Sea during the competitive season, he can open his drapes each morning to this. 

An hour later he stands in front of his nephew and the new girl on the ice. 

He sizes them up as he does every morning, walking delicately around them in a circle in his street shoes and careful not to slosh his precious morning ration of caffeine. 

“Good morning,” he greets them when he rounds into their line of vision once again. 

“Good morning, Coach,” they answer in unison.

Good. So at least they can do that together. 

“Stroking,” he dismisses them to drills with a gentle motion of his mug.

Ben’s pained look is clear and Luke raises one gloved finger to silence him. 

“These are the first steps,” he repeats. “Go!”

Rey’s face is a mask as she holds up her arms for Ben to take his position. 

Their blades make the tiniest scratching sounds as they shuffle into place in front of him before changing to a repetitive  _ scur, scur, scur  _ when they hit their stride along the length of the rink. Luke retreats to the boards and watches them. 

They manage two full laps in unison this morning before things begin to look rough. Ben is too tall for her, and she struggles to keep up with him. For his part, Ben does nothing to temper his strokes to fit her shorter frame; instead, he takes his frustration out on her, speeding up until she trips on her toe picks trying to match him. Luke tucks his chin and watches out of the tops of his eyes while they move into serpentines, drifting farther and farther apart until they are barely grasping one another’s fingertips. 

The girl is more certain on her feet now that her boots are properly fitted. The ones she arrived with were hand-me-downs, and for all Ben’s private complaining about her lack of skating skills, there is something to her: a fierceness and a hunger to prove herself. She’s not a bad skater, just not good enough for the state to bother developing as a singles girl, and she is the right age to switch to pairs. She has all her jumps, and for now, she is still small. As an orphan, they have no way of knowing what her parents looked like, if they were petite or hulking, if the mother widened out with age. For now, he will work with what he got: a fifteen-year-old girl with no breasts or hips who can skate halfway decently. 

After all, skills can be drilled and taught. Luke sips his coffee, now cooled almost to drinkable, and narrows his eyes at them. Rey catches up with Ben at the end of the rink and they move into their next drill, skating serpentines facing each other. They match up better this way with Ben pushing Rey backwards in a dance hold. He can’t get ahead of her when she’s in front of him, and Luke catches a few moments that look promising. 

For a stride here and there, Luke can see what the federation officials are already going wild for. There is a tension between them, a visible energy in the way their bodies move together. They look plain in training clothes this morning, but he imagines them in two, three years with good choreo and costumes, stage makeup on their faces and he sighs at the possibility of things to come. 

Then it’s gone in an instant when Rey catches a rut in the ice and trips backwards, sprawling across the ice and Ben groans as he manages to avoid skating over her. 

“Come,” he stands again and beckons them to the boards. 

They approach him separately, Ben with his shoulders hunched and Rey wiping the ice chips from her leggings.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Luke encourages them. 

Ben’s eyes flash at this mild assessment but he knows better than to talk back. 

“These are the first steps,” Luke repeats. “You have to walk before you run or jump. Ben, you know that.” 

A muscle jumps in Ben’s jaw near his ear. 

“What is a pair?” His question is rhetorical, and they know to wait for him to expound. “Not just two of a thing--but complements of a thing. Two that work together to achieve perfection.”

He rests his mug on the edge of the boards now and moves onto the ice to grasp their stiff wrists and link their hands once more.

“A flower by itself is beautiful--” His gaze rests on Rey, her eyes turned down at the ice. “--but it needs a stem to support it.” He glances now at Ben, who is looking somewhere over his shoulder. 

They hold hands as though they each think the other has a disease.

“It is your job to make each other as beautiful as possible,” he continues, nodding in approval at the lines their arms make. 

The bottom of a heart.

“Understood?”

“Yes, Coach.” They mumble in unison. He waits for them each to meet his eyes before he dismisses them. 

“Start again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumor has it that Russian pairs spend up to a year doing these basic drills when they are first matched-- literally just skating around together until their strides match and their lines look good together. National federations play a large role in matching skaters together for pairs and ice dance and it's not uncommon for individuals to back into pairs or dance if they're not strong enough to compete at singles.
> 
> Katya Gordeeva's memoir, [My Sergei](https://www.amazon.com/My-Sergei-Story-Ekaterina-Gordeeva-ebook/dp/B004ZGZCFI), has some great bon mots about training practices under the old Soviet system (as well as the romantical bits about falling in love with her partner, Sergei Grinkov.)


	3. Chapter 3

_ April 1981 _

Four months into her partnership with Ben, the snows have turned grey in the streets and the days lengthen to the point where they no longer come and go from training in total darkness. The competitive season is over and the off-season stretches out ahead of them. Months that should be spent on a southern beach or at a dacha in the country will be spent indoors, learning their first programs together. 

Worlds came and went the month prior, and the podium step that was meant to hold him with his previous partner was filled by a Canadian team-their flag raised to the rafters, their anthem played over the scratchy loudspeaker system.

“Turn it off,” Ben had snapped as they sat watching it in his uncle’s living room. 

“They skated well,” she tried. “And their coaches have connections, too.”

His back was to her where he stood at the window, looking out over the city. Luke was away with his junior team that had medalled at the championship. A silver was a decent finish for them, enough to keep the federation out of Luke’s hair and them sheltered as they learned to work with each other.

Ben gave a curt shake of his head, one she recognized all too well. For a moment she thought he would expound when he didn’t, she leaned forward to pour a bit more tea. It was an expensive brand from the far eastern provinces, one not normally available at the stores unless you knew people or had a little extra money to grease the palm of a worker. 

Rey had never known anybody. 

She was about to sip when Ben spoke. 

“You know I never even wanted to be an artistic skater? I wanted to play hockey.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at his back. Every little Russian boy wants to play hockey, but who ever gets what they want? He is tall and built perfectly for pairs, and while his face is long and his ears stick out, there is a kind of fleeting beauty to him that would be wasted under a helmet. 

Besides, his family’s success in the sport practically wrote his story before he was born. 

Rey tucks the excess of her laces in the top of her boot and rolls her knitted legwarmers down. She hears him approach before she straightens up. 

“You ready yet, Princess?” 

His sarcastic nickname for her seemed like an insult at first. Her earliest memory was a high window in the shabby dance studio the orphan girls went to, one with a rounded top and panes like the spokes of a wheel. She would look up at it as the dance teacher led the girls in warm-ups, patrolling the rows and correcting them here and there. A touch on the hip, a poke in the behind, a hand cupping the shoulder to pull it back.

Ballet had given way to gymnastics, and when she was no longer flexible enough to train with the ball and the ribbon, they had tried skating. She didn’t particularly care what sport she did, just that she did one. She liked the freedom it afforded her, the special school schedule and trips to summer training camps in the countryside. A jacket with a patch that declared her belonging to  _ something _ . 

It was all she ever wanted.

“Yes, your worship,” she replies and takes his hand. The slightest quirk of his lopsided mouth at her sass is the only indication he doesn’t completely despise her anymore. 

With Luke away, the federation dance teacher has come to observe their training, and they skate towards the tiny, fur-clad lump seated in the middle of the rink. 

“Good morning, Teacher,” They greet her as one, sliding gently sideways to a stop ahead of her, and Rey curtseys out of respect. 

Maria Anatoleyvna Zhenyaskaia-- Maz for short--raises her eyes and squints at them through glasses as thick as the base of a vodka bottle. 

“Mmmmmm.” Her reply deflates her figure slightly and Rey wonders how old Maz might be. Her ankle-length fur coat puddles on the ice around the chair she is apparently seated on, but an armload of bracelets jangles softly as she adjusts her glasses. As long as she’s been skating, Rey has heard stories of the woman. “What are you working on?”

They glance at each other before Ben answers. “Still on drills, ma’am.”

“Komrade Luke knows the path well,” she replies cryptically. “Let me see your positions.”

They have only just begun their dance training off-ice, and so they demonstrate the fundamentals as best they can. Their spiral is still shaky but it feels solid for a moment, the length of his body pressed against her back with their legs extended in an arabesque. They are getting better at skating close together without tripping each other, and she is steadier now in the small lifts they attempt with the additional strength work she is putting in at the gym. 

“Mmmmmmm.” This is Maz’s only judgement when they end in front of her once more. “Not bad.”

Later, Rey is tugging on her hat to leave the rink when he catches up with her. His hair is still wet from the shower and the duffle bag he carries is practically the same size as her body. 

“Are you heading home?” He asks like he doesn’t know, like she doesn’t go back to the dormitory every day after training to work on her studies. Two more years and she can sit for exams to be free of compulsories. 

“Yes?” She is confused by his question, but moreso by her urge to tell him to put his own hat on. The last thing they need is him catching his death of cold from evening spring air.

“Well, do you wanna…” He fishes in his jacket pocket to produce his cap a moment before they burst out onto the street. “Do something? Get tea?”

She hesitates, unsure how to take this development. They have always parted like coworkers--since that is what they are-- at the end of each session, not caring what the other does in their free time off the ice. She wonders if Maz or Luke ordered him to this. Another calculated exercise to bring them closer for the glory of sport and country. 

His brown eyes are soft and he raises his eyebrows in anticipation of her answer. When he’s not concentrating on skating, his face relaxes and Rey can admit she finds him a touch handsome. 

Besides, even if this is just a ploy, she wants to do well. She wants  _ them _ to do well, to deserve the faith their teachers put in them to represent their homeland. 

“Alright,” she agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maz is pattered after [Tatiana Anatolyevna Tarasova](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tatiana_Tarasova), one of the Russian greats, aka "TAT". 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr- I'm @theafterglow-writes. And Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah if you're celebrating even in these dark, post-TROS days. :)


	4. Chapter 4

_September 1981_

The room spins as she calls out the changes and counts them down to a stop. 

The positions are simple enough and he’s done them a million times: first a slight layback, moving to a variation of a catch-foot, then a scratch spin with arms overhead. They are at center ice facing where judges will sit, staring down a panel of national experts for their test skate. 

It’s not as hard as the program he had been training with his previous partner by a mile, but it’s solid and they deliver it well--pretty well, he dims his assessment a touch-- and it shows Rey off nicely. The transitions are too simple, the step sequence not as intricate, but their fundamentals have come along over the summer to the point the federation trusts to send them to a few senior B competitions this fall to show them off. They can manage the required elements without embarrassing themselves and Ben doesn’t think it’s arrogant to believe the federation wants to send a message that their golden child in pairs is down, but by no means out of the race towards a medal in Sarajevo.

If all goes well, they will compete at nationals in December, make Europeans in January, and secure the alternate spot for Worlds the following spring. Their komrades finished poorly enough the previous year to lose one of their precious three spots, but an alternate berth will be fine. They will go, they will train, and if they are needed? They will be ready. If not, it will be an experience.

There is no need to peak now. The competitive season is as long as the winter here, and then some. 1983 will be the year that matters, ahead of the Games. It would be best if they go to Yugoslavia as reigning World Champions. 

Luke rises from his place at the end of the bench that holds the panel and moves aways down the boards to meet them. The fur coats are scribbling notes furiously and conferring amongst each other, but Ben notices the calm way Rey ignores them, as though this was no different than any other practice. They took a risk choosing her: they have no idea how she’ll react at a competition, where nerves often make a mess of the steadiest skaters. 

A small swell of pride in her indifference to their jury blossoms in his chest and he places his hand on her lower back as they stop in front of Luke. 

Her look at him tells him she knows he’s putting it on for the officials, and she’s right. Aside from their training, he has never laid a hand on her. Despite what people want to believe, the fantasy they want to project onto a team, it’s not like that for them. 

“That was beautiful,” Luke gushes and for a moment, Ben can see his uncle’s younger self beneath his bushy beard. The man’s eyes are shining and there is a flicker of excitement that Ben hasn’t seen in a long, long time. “They were speechless, for once.”

Rey hides her small smile in her turtleneck by using it to dab the light sweat from her upper lip. He’s getting better at reading her, so he knows this faint praise from Luke means the world to her. They still don’t talk very much but he knows the years in the system have scarred her, made her wary of anyone offering anything. The last time she looked this pleased was when they celebrated her birthday in the summer at his family’s dacha. 

Her real birthday was unknown when she was surrendered so the orphanage had chosen June 15th. He was oblivious to it until Luke was suddenly inviting her away with them one day after practice. 

She was sixteen now, whether by nature or act of bureaucracy, and she had never looked happier than when she was surrounded by his family eating the tiniest sliver of the Napoleon cake his mother had made her. Leia had become a career bureaucrat following her skating life, and baking was not on her list of domestic duties. 

“A girl only turns sixteen once,” his mother had said as she cupped Rey’s cheek as though she were Leia’s own offspring. “That cake won’t eat itself. You two have worked hard! You deserve a celebration.”

Ben removes his hand from her back and crosses his arms against the strange irritation this memory causes. 

“What else?” He asks to hasten Luke’s judgement of their skate.

“The usual,” Luke nods affably. It’s clear he won’t be harsh on them in front of an audience, and that’s smart. They have to present a united face even if everyone knows it’s fiction. 

The usual is… well, still a lot to Ben. Their edges aren’t deep enough. They skate too far apart. Their spins are slow and sometimes travel. Their lift positions are simplistic. All in all, they still skate more like two singles than a pair, and Rey’s skills have a long way to go yet. While she’s shown remarkable progress in the last nine months, this is a marathon, not a sprint.

“Komrades,” the lead official addresses them. “Thank you.” 

They file past the panel, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, a cloud of cigarette smoke and perfume enveloping them. No small rodent has been spared for these women’s coats and Ben marvels at time’s ability to turn the prettiest girls into middle-aged crones whose faces look like they’re melting towards the ice. The few gentlemen amongst them sport identical bushy moustaches and hats, the same as those who work in his mother’s politburo office downtown.

The last coat is Maz, and she presses her hands to both their shoulders as though blessing them at mass. If she had a thurible stashed under her fur Ben wouldn’t even bat an eye.

“Good work,” she says softly. “That was better. They were impressed with your progress.” 

“Spasiba, Komrade,” they thank her together.

They push back from the boards together and link hands to keep drilling as the panel shuffles from the rink with Luke by their side. 

“Well?” She asks only when they’re safely on the other side of the ice, stroking slowly in time together. 

“We did alright.” Ben doesn’t want to overstate their performance. They haven’t seen the notes yet and he knows she takes criticism very hard.

“Do you think they’ll let us go?” She asks without looking at him but he knows how much it means to her to be chosen to go abroad. To be trusted with something. 

“Yes,” he says simply and he can’t hide his smile when she dips her chin into her turtleneck to hide hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes about the competitive figure skating season: the real senior season begins in the fall, usually October, and runs through the end of the year. Various countries hold their national championships from December-January, then European championships are in late January. Worlds are held in March. If it's an Olympic year, that's in February and messes things up-- many skaters who compete at the Games don't continue to Worlds, so results there in an Olympic year are usually squirrelly. The "B" competitions are international competitions held in September and early October for skaters to test their new programs out, get feedback, make tweaks, etc. National federations hold test skates for their skaters in front of panels to provide the same type of feedback. 
> 
> Their spins:
> 
> [Layback](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_i-M0OALkb4)
> 
> [Catch-foot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2xLGSnCA5g)
> 
> [Scratch spin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxCQM8j1LM8)
> 
> Note, the layback and the catch-foot (especially more extreme variations like the Biellmann) are usually considered "ladies" spins b/c men don't have the back flexibility for them. There are exceptions, though, like [Jason Brown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9OtKfOvONw), who has the loveliest, most bendy body!


	5. Chapter 5

_February 1982_

_Lyon, France_

Europeans aren’t held in Russia, but they may as well be for how many of their teammates land on the podium. Rey’s palms sting from applauding their medal finishes and tucks her hands into her new national jacket, one with thick red ribbing at the cuffs and a body made of sleek white satin. It’s a whole suit, meant to be worn at all times while traveling and around the rink, so that everyone knows who they are and where they come from. She has a new red ribbon to tie around her ponytail and while she thinks it looks junior-ish, Luke assures her it’s alright for now. 

“All in good time, Princess,” he murmurs as he strokes his beard. “No need to grow up too fast.”

It’s hard to remember when she sees the ice dancers, their bejeweled costumes barely hiding their bodies and their eyes a wild swirl of color to match. They are older than she, and while she knows her size is advantageous for their discipline, she is envious of their lean height and glamorous panache. One of them has caught Ben’s eye and it’s not lost on Rey how he always manages to end up next to this girl at meals, on the tour bus that ferrys them up the hills, beside her in the elevator. 

The other skaters know Ben well already, greeting him with hugs and a deference to his past titles. He has no need to make nice and greets them with the cool air of a prince returned from his summer palace to grace the court. She feels like a fifth wheel, forgotten until there is a pause in the conversation and he remembers to introduce her. 

They end up as pewter medalists, and while Rey is as proud of her strange, fourth-place medal as if they’d actually won, Ben rips it off and stuffs it in his pocket the second they exit the ice. It dims her excitement a notch, seeing how hard he takes their placement, but it’s swallowed up quickly enough by the media hounding their teammates who finished with silver. It’s the first time a Soviet team hasn’t stood atop the pairs podium in seventeen years. Ben had been expected to win with his previous partner, so the task fell to another team who were inexperienced enough to be edged out by East German rivals.

“You did well,” Luke corrals them by the elbows in the tunnel leading to the ice. “This is good enough for your first year. Let someone else take the heat this time.” 

They talk to the press--or rather, Ben does--and she nods along as he delivers the party line about their rebuilding as a new team. 

The city is beyond her wildest dreams and yet not as different as she expected stepping off her first plane ride. It looks like postcards she’s seen of St. Petersburg and is rather small, a tiny oasis of classic buildings and arched bridges stretching over the ancient rivers that meet there. She marvels at the horizon, free from the towers that dot Moscow’s skyline, but wonders how these people must live. The team are shepherded by a minder from the federation, a woman Rey has never seen before, who is quick to give her opinion on the capitalist excesses and inequalities of their host country. 

They are boarding the bus to tour the famous cathedral when a young man from the French team pauses by her row. 

“May I sit here?” He asks in English, and she knows at least enough to understand this. 

She nods and moves her jacket for him to sit down. 

“Spasiba,” he tries, and she smiles at his pronunciation. He smiles back, and it is a brilliant--it lights up his whole face and Rey can’t help but keep smiling. 

“I’m called Rey.” Her tongue feels funny around these foreign consonants. Ben’s better with English but he’s taken to the back seat with the dance girl pressed close to him and she has to fend for herself. 

“Finn,” the young man replies. “This is your first time in France?”

“Yes.” Rey is suddenly shy. Russia is enormous, but she’s never been abroad. She felt important until they arrived and she realized her place was so small in this bigger world.

They manage something like talking all the way up to the castle and she thinks she learns a few things about him. They are almost the same age. He was born in Africa but his French parents adopted him. They were both gymnasts until they were given skates, and now their home is on the ice. 

She learns a few more things when they separate in the tour group and he hangs shyly at the back with a handsome, dark-haired young man from the American team. 

Rey concentrates on what their translator is telling them and tries to ignore the commentary that is being injected about the cathedral’s history. 

At five the next morning, she wakes with a start from a fitful dream about a craggy island rising out of a stormy sea and is unable to go back to sleep. It’s too early for practice, and besides, their schedule is all out of sorts here. They practice when ice is available, together with the other teams at the competition. Yesterday was the final day so some skaters have already departed for home and she feels anxious to get back to their routine. They await the assignments for Worlds knowing it’s likely this is the end of their season. That doesn’t mean work is over, though. 

After twenty minutes of idling around the room does nothing to take her edge off, she dresses to go for a walk around the building. They mustn't leave unaccompanied, but they were given free reign inside the hotel and their minder is certainly still fast asleep. 

Rey is about to step into the elevator when she hears a woman’s high pitched giggle, then a door closing down the hallway. She glances back over her shoulder and freezes to see Ben coming towards her. His face is plastered with a shit-eating grin and he looks down at the runner rug, clearly in his own world.

The elevator bell dings impatiently and Rey feels like she is watching one of their slow-motion training replays as he looks up, up, up, then he locks eyes with her. 

His stride slows for a second when he realizes it’s her standing there. 

The elevator door closes in front of her without her boarding and the car begins its descent to the lobby.

He comes to a stop an arm’s length away and they are frozen staring at each other. 

She takes in the sight of him: a shadow darkens his upper lip and jawline, his hair is still damp, and his jacket unzipped, revealing the black t-shirt he wore yesterday on the bus.

Ben jabs the elevator button with his thumb and stands with his hands on his hips. His lips work as though he’s trying to learn to speak before he finally says, “So are you gonna tell on me to Luke?”

Rey narrows her eyes at this. She thinks she should feel pleased--he’s trusting her to keep his secret-- but instead she feels like a younger sibling. Before she can answer, he continues in a rush.

“It’s not like he’s a saint either, you know. He doesn’t have all the answers. And it’s not like their way is the only way.”

Rey’s mind goes a million places at this outburst of criticism but all she can think to say is, “What you do off the ice is none of my business.” 

The elevator returns and they step onto it side-by-side. He sighs deeply and rolls his neck, stretching his shoulders. A purpling bruise stands out at the junction of his throat and his collarbones in the harsh fluorescent light. 

“Thank you,” he breathes. “I owe you one.” 

Rey allows her nod to tuck her chin to her chest and she crosses her arms. Fifteen seconds has somehow undone thirteen months of work and she feels like she is standing next to a perfect stranger again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1982 Europeans](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1982_European_Figure_Skating_Championships) really were won mostly by the USSR, except for pairs for the first time in 17 years. 
> 
> France has had several elite skaters of color whose backstories including being adopted by French parents -- [Surya Bonaly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surya_Bonaly), [Florent Amodio](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florent_Amodio). 
> 
> Ben's divatude about his pewter medal is a straight ripoff of/homage to [Surya Bonaly refusing to get on the podium or accept her '94 World Silver medal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgXQzfUHKWk) in protest after she placed second to Yuka Sato of Japan.


	6. Chapter 6

_ June 1982 _

Their first season unfolds almost exactly as Luke planned it, and for that, he is grateful. They made their debut, earned decent placements, and now it is time to break them down to build them up further. Their national teammates rallied to top finishes at Worlds and they again have three spots for next year. He makes sure a nice bottle of vodka is delivered to their coach. 

The season before the Games is more important. With the whole world watching, their judges always hold up teams they know, the ones they know have performed in the past. Sometimes skaters don’t win on the day they skate best, but the best skaters usually win. 

The summer stretches out ahead of them and while the long days don’t cure the distance he’s sensed between them for some time now, it feels like a fresh start. 

That is, until just after Rey’s seventeenth birthday.

At first Luke thinks she is favoring her right side, then her left, and his brain can’t quite work out why she looks different as they idle through warm-ups. Injury is an omnipresent concern, whether it’s her ankles and knees from the jump landings or Ben’s shoulders or wrists from lifts, and Luke squints at them as he counts the number of beats she glides on each foot before changing. They’ve been lucky so far, sustaining nothing more than minor muscle strains from repetitive motion, but the anomaly persists.

She starts falling on her jumps, even the easy throws they mastered a year ago. Their lines no longer match the way they did as recently as Europeans, and no matter how much Luke corrects them, they are slightly out of sync. 

Ben’s resentment at this setback is palpable and he knows he needs to intervene when his nephew snaps at her within earshot, “How much are you eating?!” 

They are standing before him, not touching, when it occurs to Luke what to do.

“Tomorrow we’re taking vitals,” he announces. “The federation is compiling files and they need your stats. Then you need a day off,” he looks pointedly at Ben. “Go outside, get some light.”

Of course this is bullshit and they probably know it, but the moment he rests the caliper on Rey’s hair, he sees the problem.

She is growing.

She came to them at one meter sixty-five, and while that was already taller than some of their elite singles girls, she was a perfect height for Ben. Now she measures an even one-seventy and while he’s still a full head taller than her, it’s just enough to make them clumsy all over again. With it she has gained almost two kilos. 

He doesn’t let them see the numbers. For his part, Ben is the same as he’s been since he got his growth spurt, and he’s gained a bit too but Luke chalks it up to muscle from lifting a heavier partner. It is a cruel truth of the sport that weight doesn’t matter so much for the men; as long as they perform, they are left in relative peace about their diets.

The file goes right back in his desk drawer under lock and key. 

“Ben,” he beckons his nephew back into the office as Ben makes to leave. “It would be nice of you to come by for dinner this evening.” 

Ben’s stare is withering. “I thought you wanted us to have a day off.”

Luke returns the stare without blinking. “You’re still family, aren’t you? Come by at seven-thirty. It’ll still be light, we can sit out.”

“Fine.” Ben says it with his back turned and he is out the door. 

He arrives promptly to Luke’s with a bottle of vodka in hand--his sister’s doing, no doubt--and stands silently at the entrance to the kitchen watching Luke cook. 

“It’s been awhile, huh?” Luke offers. 

Ben shrugs. Luke takes it in stride, remembering how Ben used to want to be around his uncle all the time, sleeping over on the couch to go with him to the rink first thing in the morning until his mother came by and insisted he go to school. 

Things change. He accepts this as part of life. Nothing is permanent.

He hands Ben a bowl of  _ olivie _ salad to deliver to the tiny cafe table on his balcony, a mixture of cooked diced potatoes, carrots, peas and pickles swimming in a creamy white dressing and topped with fresh dill. He follows a moment later with the shashlik skewers, two glasses, and the bottle Ben brought tucked under his arm.

“There,” Luke settles into his chair and takes in the city. “Drink?” He begins to pour without waiting for Ben’s answer. 

They toast and tuck in without speaking and Luke lets it ride. No sense in getting Ben’s hackles up when he’s hungry. 

The sun sinks lower, bathing the city in a golden light and they are halfway through their third glasses before Luke broaches the topic after casual small talk. 

“How do you think things are going with Rey?” 

Ben leans back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead and Luke is struck by how much he looks like his father for a moment. 

“I  _ knew _ you were going to ask,” Ben looks smug. “She’s taller, isn’t she.” He makes a helpless gesture with his enormous hand at the inevitable fact of their situation. 

Luke turns his glass in the ring of condensation on the metal table before he replies simply, “She is. I meant aside from that.”

A scowl darkens his nephew’s face now and he shrugs. “She’s fine. We did well enough last year.” 

“You did,” Luke praises easily. “Better than you had any right to. Next year will be different, though. You need to start presenting a united front and building up your momentum towards the Games.” 

“How are we not doing that,” Ben’s eyes narrow in suspicion. 

Luke sighs. He hates to do this, truly, but Ben is not a normal twenty-year old. He’s very mature in some ways, but very stunted in others, and Luke knows it’s the focus on their training that makes him this way. 

“All I’m saying is, you might want to get rid of any… distractions heading into this season.”

Ben stares at him for a long moment before something seems to dawn on him. “She told you?” The hurt is evident on his nephew’s face and Luke takes a sip of vodka to cover his own surprise. 

Rey knew about this? He heard through the grapevine from the other team’s coach, who asked politely for him to speak to Ben about it. Suddenly their behavior since February is less mysterious. 

“No,” Luke shakes his head. “If she knew, she’s apparently better than keeping secrets than you, because I heard it from someone else.”

“We’re not going to skate forever,” Ben fairly growls. “I’m not allowed to have a life?”

“Ben, you need to end it.” Luke is firm now. “I know it’s hard, but you have to use this talent now. You have the whole rest of your life for love.” 

“Is that what you call this? Life?” Ben gestures caustically at Luke’s bachelor apartment. “I can’t live like this. I’m not like you and Mom.”

Luke sighs and looks out over the city. Ben really knows how to twist the knife in a fight, that’s for sure.

“End it,” he repeats and drains his glass. “We have too much work to do this summer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is [olivie (or olivier) salad](https://www.olgasflavorfactory.com/recipes/ontheside/salads/russian-salad-olivie/)? 
> 
> It's generally accepted that pairs skaters should be at least a head different in height.
> 
> Regarding the [number of spots a country gets at Worlds](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_Figure_Skating_Championships#Number_of_entries). A country may have one, two, or three spots per discipline, but whether a country gets a second or third spot depends on the placement of the skaters who compete in the previous year.


	7. Chapter 7

_ December 31, 1982 _

Ben glances over the crowd, looking for the one person he wants to be with at this party. He doesn’t see her anywhere but he knows she’s here. He saw her arrive with some other girls awhile back. 

They didn’t even want to come but their friends had insisted. They needed to celebrate, it was the new year, things were going their way. It would do them good to cut loose a bit, now that Nationals were behind them and Europeans still six weeks away. 

No one can train all the time. Even their coaches know that. 

That is why, once a year, Maz opens her home to all the skaters from the school and they are allowed to eat all the holiday foods they can manage and drink until they are slurring their words and making wild boasts about their placements for the coming year. 

Maz’s flat seems like a castle, a portal from another time. It is stuffed to the gills with skating memorabilia, a sizeable real fir  _ yolka _ crammed into one corner, the serving platters overflowing with three households’ worth of caviar. It sits on the corner of the building and has a balcony that wraps around with sliding doors leading out from the kitchen and the living room. One door or the other keeps getting left open and the flat would be drafty if it were not overstuffed with all of them. 

They feel like royalty in her care. 

And why shouldn’t they, Ben muses silently as he sips his drink? He can’t see their host anywhere but he knows Maz is probably holding court in the living room. Without her fur coat she is a tiny slip of a woman, her joints gnarled and twisted with overuse and age. 

They are reigning Russian champions, an enviable position to hold going into the championships in the spring. It was two parts their hard work to relearn skills after Rey’s growth spurt and one part luck with their closest rivals taking an unexpected fall on their throw element. They’re all friends, or so the state media would like everyone to believe, but he and Rey clutched each other's hands with unbridled glee in the private waiting area as they watched the replays, realizing what it meant for them. 

Yes, they deserve to be treated nicely for once, and with each drink he cares less who knows that he and Bazine are still an item. His uncle’s admonition did nothing but make him dig in his heels further. He refuses to submit every part of his life to what his family wants. 

Really though, the federation makes it too easy. They were assigned to the same competitions all fall so there was plenty of time to see each other. It’s the only time they’re not training from dawn till late afternoon, and there is ample opportunity to slip away unnoticed in a crowd. Her partner is more than understanding since he has a man on the side, and Rey… well, she didn’t rat him out to Luke at least. 

He finally spots Bazine on the balcony, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed with drink. A gaggle of junior dance girls surround her like ladies-in-waiting and Baz doesn't disappoint. She looks every inch the queen tonight in a red knit dress that hugs her lithe figure with white marabou trim fluttering at her wrists as she gestures while talking. She is perfect for her discipline the same as he is for theirs, blessed with an ideal body and imbued with a sense of drama so prized in ice dance. 

At fifteen minutes to midnight they obediently take slips of paper from the basket Maz passes around to write their secret wishes for the new year. She tops their glasses off with a wink and distributes lighters and matches to set their wishes free in flames. The ashes will be drunk, consumed to become part of their bodies so that they may come true. 

Ben considers carefully what he wants. 1983 is a big year ahead of the Games and he renders his desires in a confident block print. Two things for their career, one thing for himself, and one for his family. He’s not completely selfish, after all. He wishes for his mother’s continued health and for his father… for his father to  _ come home _ from wherever it is the military has him now. The war in the east against the Afghans has been dragging on for three years already and last they knew, he was helping counter-insurgents smuggle weapons into the country to fight the mujahadeen. His mother lights a candle for Han Solokov every Sunday. He hands off his pen to a junior skater and folds his paper into quarters, obscuring his writing and minimizing the surface area he must channel into his drink. 

He wonders what Rey might have written. The last time he saw her, she was cornered in the kitchen by a junior singles boy closer to her age. The boy has been making eyes at her all season, but Rey seems to have a laser focus on their training. He doesn’t get her; she’s at the age where one falls in love, makes mistakes, makes up and breaks up. It’s not Ben’s thing, but he judges the younger man to be handsome enough. 

The guests surge towards the balcony and before he’s ready, someone begins the countdown. He can’t reach Bazine now, and they lock eyes over the others before she turns away in disappointment, her arms slung around the shoulders of those next to her.

_ Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve… _

No matter. He’ll make it up to her later, after their walk around the city when they’re alone. His mother and Luke spend this evening together so they’ll head back to his place and have it to themselves. Their whole relationship is built around scarcity and him making things up to her from slights both real and imagined. 

He torches his paper over a candle on the table and when the flames begin to lick his fingertips, he drops it into his glass where it goes out with a fizzle, the black ashes floating on the pale golden champagne. 

_ Eight, seven, six… _

Ben joins the countdown when someone bumps him hard enough from behind to slosh his drink on his hand and he turns in astonishment. 

“Seriously?” It’s out of his mouth before he realizes it’s Rey, who seems to have tripped on her high heels on the rug and is staring up at him with her mouth open in horror. 

_ Four, three, two… _

“Oh my gosh, Ben, I’m sorry,” she stammers, brushing her own champagne from her sweater. Drops coat her sternum and there’s a little puddle beading on Maz’s antique Oriental rug beneath their feet. 

He grabs a napkin from the table and presses it to her chest without thinking. Her hand covers his for a split second before he snatches it back. 

“Sorry!” He exclaims and he feels his cheeks flushing.

_ One… Happy New Year! _

“Happy New Year,” she whispers and her eyes dart to his mouth before meeting his again. 

All around them their teammates are hugging and kissing but Ben has the strangest sensation in his middle as he looks at her. Blame the drink, blame the holiday but before she can react, he leans in and captures her lips in a kiss. He means it to be a quick peck but it draws out, his stupid mouth mashed against hers and when she parts her lips in surprise their tongues touch for the briefest instant. 

She pulls away first and her fingertips go to her mouth in shock. 

“Happy New Year, Rey,” he manages before he turns away, before he does anything else he can’t live down.

He gulps the rest of his champagne and pushes his way out onto the balcony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a [yolka](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Year_tree)? 
> 
> Apparently it is Russian custom to [burn wishes then consume the ashes](https://tradish.com/view.php?id=92) on New Year's Eve. My cousin's friend currently lives in Ukraine and they did this just last night!


	8. Chapter 8

_ March 1983  _

_ Helsinki, Finland _

Late winter weather in Helsinki is somehow worse than home. More humid near the water with frequent bouts of rain, the temperature fluctuates in a narrow band between freezing and--

“It’s  _ fucking _ freezing!” Ben complains every time they leave the hotel for the rink. 

Rey grows tired of his act quickly and she finally snaps, “You could’ve just stayed home, then! I’m sure I could do this without you!”

She’s not sure, but she thinks she sees Luke hide a smile by winding his scarf over his face while Ben looks at her in shock. All that she spies is Luke’s winter-blue eyes dancing between his cap and his scarf and she crosses her arms in satisfaction that their coach is on her side. The shuttle bus pulls up and they board in silence.

It is their last practice before the long program this evening and Rey feels giddy when she surveys their competitors in the group ahead of them on the ice. They are second after the short, in striking distance of first and their East German rivals are having a bad practice.

Not just bad, Rey revises her estimation. The woman is skating by herself, hands on her hips, and her partner is gesturing after her while yelling at their coach. The other pairs keep flying around them but it’s clear everyone has one ear turned towards the fray. 

It is one thing she appreciates about Ben, his complaining about small things aside: he is always civil to her in public. Luke insists they act like friends even when she’s sure he's indifferent to her at best, though his mood has been a bit glum since Europeans where his dalliance with Bazine finally came to an unceremonious conclusion.

Things had already been patchy with them since Maz’s New Year’s party and escalated when Bazine started dancing with a skater from Canada at the gala party following the exhibition on Sunday. Instead of cutting in as he normally did, Ben watched coolly from his table while sipping his drink, chatting with a friend and paying no attention to her. Rey was dancing with Finn and Poe and minding her own business when one of them had pointed out the silent conflict escalating behind them. 

Baz finally stormed to him and after an exchange of words no one could make out over the music, she flounced from the ballroom with a gaggle of girls throwing eyes at Ben trailing after her. 

Rey waited until the following week to ask him about it as they stroked warmup patterns around the rink. In some ways, it was her favorite part of their training: the two of them alone, no music or coaches, their blades making small noises on the ice as they glided silently over the newly-groomed surface. 

“Everything okay with you?”

He shrugged, looking straight ahead. “I’m fine. It was never going to last.” 

Rey tucked her lips and chin inside her turtleneck and nodded. She hoped it looked understanding, but she could not deny the small bead of victorious satisfaction that blossomed in her chest to hear this. 

He takes her hand now, chin high and looking over the fracas as they wait at the gate to enter the ice. Skate guards are piled on the boards and coaches file to the edge, close to one another but far enough away not to be overheard. 

In a way, practice is as important as the competition itself. Judges and officials saunter in and out, observing their time and making pre-judgements on their elements. If they miss an element five of six times in practice, who would believe they will hit in competition when the pressure’s on? Everyone always says  _ ice is slippery _ but they are trained to the limit. Competition seems like a break in comparison with their normal routine.

Seeing what happened ahead of them, Luke is calm. “Just take it easy. Don’t wear yourselves out. Godspeed.” 

They glance at each other, and Rey knows exactly what Ben has in mind. 

Sure, they go easy--but they show off. It’s a bold statement, not doing their hardest elements to their fullest in practice. Why bother, when their closest competitors just imploded? 

_ We don’t even need to. We’re saving ourselves _ .  _ Everyone is beneath us _ . 

Luke glowers at them as they fly by him, but Rey can put that aside when she focuses on Ben. They move as one, assured and confident in their connection on the ice. Every hold, every lift - they’ve done them hundreds of times by now and could do them in their sleep. Their competitors are a blur and her attention is trained only on him. 

By the time they hit their final position, he offers a cocky smile and she returns it. 

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Luke deadpans as they fit their guards to their blades to return to the locker room. “You could’ve just done as I asked.” 

They don’t apologize. 

The afternoon is long and she idles in her room, first reading, then not napping, until it is finally time to begin putting on her makeup for the evening. Competition is the only time she really wears it so it’s slow going, making sure she’s applying all the things in the right order to achieve the effect she wants. The fake eyelashes are especially troublesome with their tiny vial of glue but once they’re on, she feels irresistible.

Their long program is her favorite of theirs so far. It’s an adaptation of Stravinsky’s  _ Firebird _ and the story fits them well. Her dress is red and Ben’s black-on-black outfit is accented with gold metallic thread that catches the lights as she struggles to keep from being caught by his Prince Ivan. It’s a classic ballet, it’s Russian, and it suits their style, the tension she feels between them. Some of it is acting, but she gets a rush each time they’ve performed it. They end with their death spiral and he doesn’t let her go when he helps her back upright, instead drawing her close to his chest to pluck a feather sewn to her bodice from her in triumph. The look he gives her makes her stomach flutter and she knows it’s just acting, but there’s something about the way his dark eyes rake down to her bosom and then back up to her face that makes her breath harder. 

They will skate next to last, in reverse order of their placement in the short. It can be hard to shut out the noise of the crowd but they are practiced at it now. By the time the volunteer comes to escort them to the rink, Rey feels completely calm. The Canadian team ahead of them are in first for now, but that won’t last. Their skills are harder and this program makes them shine. 

When they take to the ice there is a huge round of applause so they take their time circling into their starting pose; they may as well act the part of the champions they are about to become. This close to home they have many admirers in the stands and a few rows hold Soviet flags aloft. 

The music flutters to life over the loudspeakers and they are away, skating separately until Ben catches her for their spiral as she looks backwards at him, prey caught by a hunter. She breaks free only for him to catch her waist again for their throw element, and when she turns away in an arabesque after landing he grasps her ankle to draw her close once more, lifting his magic prize overhead. A smattering of applause swells as she hits her lift position and then she is falling, falling only to be caught against him with him supporting her by her back and knees before finally returning to the ice. 

The crowd is on their feet when they grasp fingers and she wraps her foot over and begins to lean on her outside edge. Ben’s sinking down into a crouch and she with him, her body as stiff as a board as she circles him in a death spiral. She floats her free arm out and up, ready to catch his hands to end.

That is when it happens. 

She feels her bun graze the ice, and then the cold shock of it touching her bare shoulders. The crowd gasps as one and she realizes she’s on the ice. 

Without thinking she lets go and pushes up with her hand, circling around Ben who goes to his knees as though this were all planned. 

She comes to a stop in front of him and plucks her own feather, bestowing it on him as if granting him a favor and he has the sense to grasp the backs of her thighs in time with the music. 

There is a moment of stunned silence in the arena before someone starts applauding and the rest join in. 

Rey stares down at him and he mouths, “I’m sorry.” 

She helps him to his feet and tucks the feather into the illusion netting at her neckline. They take their bows and wave to the crowd again, but they feel far from triumphant as they exit the ice and head to the kiss and cry with Luke at their side. His lips are set in a grim line beneath his moustache and he doesn’t say much, just hugs them one at a time. Like always.

Rey zips her jacket over her costume and dabs at her upper lip with a tissue she’d secreted in its pocket. 

“What the hell happened?” She hisses this when her mouth is covered so the cameras can’t see. 

“My pick slipped,” Ben mutters as he pretends to cough into his hand. “I sat down a little by accident.”

The East Germans take the ice as their scores are being read. They’ve taken the deduction for a fall and they didn’t get full credit for completing the death spiral. She can’t believe their season is going to end like this. On a stupid fluke mistake that could cost them the gold. 

“Well,” Luke assesses the damage, “You certainly left the door open a little.”

They sit in first by the narrowest of margins and it is the longest five minutes of their lives. It is a horrible position to be in, knowing the gold rests on their competitors’ potential failure. 

It feels like time has stopped when, to everyone’s surprise, their rivals hold it together. It’ s as if this morning’s practice didn’t even happen and they skate beautifully. Perfectly, or better than. They have the skate of their lifetimes. They have the kind of skate Ben and Rey had at nationals in December, where it didn’t even matter. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Ben swears into his clenched fist. “I can’t fucking believe this!” 

Rey tucks her hands beneath her thighs and doubles over momentarily. She eyes the potted plants that decorate the area, wondering if she might throw up the granola bar she ate while she was doing her makeup. That was hours ago and her stomach is roiling now. 

“Alright, up!” Luke stands decisively. “We have to congratulate the champions! Remember, they are komrades too. Their finish is our finish.”

It takes fifteen minutes to drag the podium and carpet to the ice for the medal ceremony and Rey cannot stop staring at their names on the scoreboard. 

_ Skaia/Solokov - USSR - 2nd _

They accept their silver medals and she holds the bouquet she is given, but tears begin to leak out of her eyes when she sees their flag hanging lower than the winners’. 

Ben’s hand tightens on her waist and she glances back at him to find he is staring straight ahead, but his eyes are wet too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is [a death spiral](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5UD-Q17OrQ)? [This is what I was picturing](https://youtu.be/emqYBnLs0Z8?t=75) where it goes wrong for our OTP. (Don't worry, the pair in the clip, Volosozhar & Trankov, went on to win the Olympics and even make babies together!) 
> 
> The [pas de deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9IWpJt3wCY) of the Firebird ballet is awfully Reylo-y. Prince chases enchanted lady-bird in a forest and captures her and stuff so they work together later to defeat enemies? [Firebird ballet synopsis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Firebird#Synopsis). 
> 
> For a real taste of the true behind-the-scenes ~~CRAZY~~ drama of Russian skating comes a gift from the gods: an excerpt of [coach Alexei Mishin's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexei_Mishin) forthcoming autobiography has surfaced and the incomparable fan newscast, [The Skating Lesson](https://www.youtube.com/user/TheSkatingLesson), has [brought us a translation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8mO9YZHpnE). Just in time for Russian Christmas!! 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and HMU on Tumblr as @theafterglow-writes or on Twitter where I'm @TheAfterglowwr1.


	9. Chapter 9

_ June 1983 _

_ Outside Moscow _

The Skaiwolkai-Solokov family’s dacha is middle-sized but it seems like a palace compared with their cramped city flats. The garden behind it is the size of a small city park with a trail that leads off through a stand of trees to an open field and the days leading up to the summer solstice warp long yet too short, every one perfect and halcyon. 

March is behind them as much as it can be, and Luke is already designing their programs for the Olympic season. They know he has something up his sleeve but for now, their training is to relax.

First, their feet begin to heal. The open blisters they plaster over every day grow scabs and the redness begins to fade. Rey paints her toenails a shade of pink and after much teasing, Ben deigns to have her paint his big toenails as well. His feet are terribly ticklish but when he sees the delight it brings her, he quiets under her touch. 

The bruises on her behind and hips from falls turn yellow and eventually her skin regains its natural cast. This she browns by laying on a towel in the sun, shielding her eyes from it with a book she can’t ever remember when he asks about it later. He wonders if she’s embarrassed to tell him what it is she’s reading but he knows better than to pry. 

She doesn’t tell him directly, but Ben knows Rey clings to the days leading up to her birthday. The orphanage celebrated birthdays in groups, by month, but each year meant she was closer to independence. She wasn’t special, so neither was her birthday to her; it was a gate to pass through, another notch on the wall towards her legal adulthood.

Being with his family confuses all that in the most glorious, decadent way. This is her third birthday with them and it’s a big one, her eighteenth. He knows his mother has a special dinner planned and Luke is glowing as proudly as if she were his own daughter. It bothered him in the past, but he feels calmer about it now. He’s too old to cling to childish things, and if it gives them pleasure to make a fuss on her, who is he to object? 

Ben takes a long walk alone the afternoon of her birthday, winding his way along the trail to the small lake that sits behind the row of dachas. A couple drifts on the glassy surface in a small boat and he settles on the grass beneath a giant fir tree to stare up at the clouds. 

The Games are less than a year away and Rey forgave him months ago for his blunder at Worlds. He’s not as easy on himself; without the World title in their pocket, they will need a perfect season leading up to the Games to prove their mettle, their worthiness of being Olympic champions. 

A small worry nags at him and Ben sighs against it. What will become of them afterwards? He can’t see himself leading Luke’s life, nor his mother’s. He’s never asked Rey what she intends to do after skating isn’t the only thing in their lives. 

He raises his head for a moment to glance at the man and woman in the boat. 

He knows he hasn’t asked her because he’s afraid of her answer. 

Of how it might make him feel. 

A bundle of nerves settles now in the pit of his stomach as he forces himself to consider how it would be not to see her every day. It’s something that troubles him more and more often these days, especially when she’s not right next to him. The occasional day off finds him restless, wishing he could just see her.

He thinks of how her lips felt and the way a tiny puff of her breath mixed with his when they kissed on New Year’s Eve. They never talked about it, and he wonders now if it haunts her the way it does him. Things were never the same between him and Bazine after that, and he wasn’t exactly sad when they ended. 

That evening she blows out the candles on the cake his mother made and he tries not to stare at how her face has changed over the years. Her cheeks are leaner now, the last girlish fullness having fallen away and her nose is dotted with freckles from time in the sun. She’s not used to her hair being down and keeps brushing it behind one ear, but a piece is stubborn and keeps coming loose. 

She opens her gifts slowly, savoring each one and giving compliments to Luke and Leia for selecting such beautiful things for her. His is in a small box and he presents it shyly. He’s never given her a gift on her birthday but it only seems right since she’s finally, technically, an adult. 

“Ben, you shouldn’t have,” she says this as she unties the ribbon, but he can tell she’s flattered. 

She opens the lid of the jewelry box to reveal a small silver hamsa with its eye inlaid with lapis. 

“For my necklace?” She has a charm necklace she wears when they skate with tiny things she’s collected at each competition they’ve gone to. She tucks it into her neckline at the start of each program but their spins cause it to fly out by the end without fail.

He nods. “For luck. We’re gonna need it.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Leia admires it from across the table and Rey passes her the box with a glance at Ben. Her hair falls across her cheek again and before she can move, he tucks it back behind her ear. 

She looks startled at the sudden contact but he covers by giving her earlobe its traditional tug. 

“Don’t be noodles, princess,” Ben smiles at her and ignores the look Luke is giving him across the table. 

They sleep in the loft beds in the living room, one on each side of the small room. It was his favorite as a boy, but his adult height renders it cramped and the warm air in the cabin seems to linger near the peak of the roof. The lights have been off for what feels like an age when he hears her shift in her bunk. 

“Ben? Are you still…”

“Yeah,” he turns his head and can just make out the outline of her against the unfinished wood roof behind her. “It’s so hot in here,” he sighs. He rolls to his side and props up on his elbow. 

She mirrors him and after a moment she suggests exactly what he was thinking. 

“Do you want to go out by the lake?” 

They are dressed in a flash to steal away down the path by moonlight before anyone is the wiser. He’s snuck out a million times and knows every squeaky floorboard to avoid, just exactly how far the screen door can open before the hinge will complain. 

Moscow’s lights glow distant on the horizon and they can see more stars here than either thought possible. The night air is still warm and fish jump in the lake, their movements making tiny ripples on the surface of the water. 

They lay on the grassy bank until their giggling quiets and he gets up his nerve. 

“What did you wish for?” 

“I can’t tell you!” She gives his arm a playful shove. “It won’t come true if I do!”

She’s looking up at the night sky as she does this and he watches her as her teasing smile slides away. She begins to worry at her bottom lip with her front teeth. 

“Rey?” He whispers her name. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t want to jinx--”

“I just want to know what’s next,” she talks over him in a rush. “You’ll be taken care of, because you have family, but I don’t know what will happen to me… after--” She makes a vague gesture between them. “Or what if we don’t win? I mean, we  _ should _ , but…”

“Ice is slippery,” Ben nods in agreement. She’s biting her lips now and her breathing has gone uneven. 

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently. He knows she’s strong but the way she squeezes back surprises him. Her thumb worries over his and their fingers lace together. 

She doesn’t pull away and it feels like time is slowing down. He feels her heartbeat through her palm and it’s racing just like his. 

He sees her turn to look at him from the corner of his eye but he keeps staring at the stars, not trusting himself to return her gaze. He crooks his free elbow behind his head and glances towards her as he does. 

He is twenty-two now and it’s like he’s seeing her for the first time. 

Her arm stiffens and he follows her lead without needing to think. She draws him close with her hand tangled in his hair and their lips meet for a second time. 

Two times isn’t enough and soon he’s lost track, their limbs tangling in an unchoreographed mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, no skating notes or references! :) The comment Ben makes, Don't be noodles, is [supposedly a Russian birthday saying](https://enjoyrussian.com/russians-celebrate/) but it's from the interwebz so don't quote me. If there are any Russian readers, please let me know if this is wrong! :) 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr (@theafterglow-writes) or on Twitter (@TheAfterglowwr1)!


	10. Chapter 10

July 1983

In the summer, the sun stays above the horizon for seventeen hours and the city parks are littered with families sunbathing away the memories of winter. 

Luke’s attire is less bulky now, stripped of his hat and trench coat, but his belted sweater is still his trusty companion. It lies on the chair opposite him as he dials a number he knows by heart.

“ _Da?_ ” The voice that comes across the line seems very distant but he knows the connection is just bad. 

“Greetings, old friend,” Luke smiles, hoping it’s telegraphed across the lines somehow.

“How are things?” The person at the other end sounds a touch hoarse, like he’s out of practice from speaking.

“The weather is warmer,” Luke replies by wrote. “And by you?” 

“There’s been some rain, but the skies are clear now.” The other person clears their throat. “Anything new in the weather report there?”

Luke stares at the mess of his office as he contemplates how to relay this information. His medals hang in a dusty frame under a museum light that burned out years ago and he’s never bothered to change it. Hip-high stacks of newspapers containing coverage of his teams rest on the desktop. He gets at least three copies of each: one he picks up himself, one the parents usually bring him, and one Maz slides into his satchel as though he were a hermit cut off from the normal world. 

The report has definitely changed. 

“It seems there’s a front moving in,” he replies. “Stationary. Will probably stick around awhile.”

There’s a pause on the line and Luke thinks he hears a door closing. 

“For how long?”

“Indefinite. Might be a permanent change in the weather pattern.”

“Huh.” The reply is noncommittal. “I’ll have to look into that.”

“What’re the odds, huh?” Luke tries to joke. “The weather never changes... until it does, right?”

“You know what I say about odds.” 

“I’ve got to go. It’s really raining now.”

“Be safe, and--” The voice is gruff but Luke can hear the longing, even after all these years. 

“I will,” he replies before replacing the ancient receiver. He caresses the cracked plastic and sighs.

The air above the ice is a touch misty in the heat and Luke can see how wet it is from the way it glistens under the lights. So--no big tricks today. The last thing they can afford is a broken ankle from someone’s pick catching in the soft ice. The rink’s cooling system goes a bit wonky at summer temperatures and there’s nothing to be done about it.

Rey and Ben are skating hand in hand around the edge. This, in and of itself, is nothing unusual.

The way Ben leans towards Rey, bending down at his waist a touch to catch what she’s saying? When they round the corner to face him, he can see how she beams up at him and Luke watches them for a full lap. They are oblivious to his presence in the shadows and he feels a strange sensation in his gut. It’s been there since their summer break. 

He feels… left out. 

The two of them have turned towards one another in an insular way that always makes him feel like he’s interrupting something private between them, bursting in like an unwanted parent. Luke places his hands in his sweater’s pockets as he slowly descends the stairs through the bleachers to the boards, watching them. 

He’s not naive, nor are they as clever as they think. It’s obvious something is going on between them. 

They separate as soon as they spot him, still skating close but no longer touching. Ben schools his face back to a smirk and Rey’s smile slowly dissipates as they skate one last lap before gliding towards him.

“How’s the ice?” He asks by way of greeting. 

“Gross,” Rey makes a face. “Pretty sticky.”

“Let’s go to the dance studio,” he suggests, opening the gate for them to walk off. “Sorry I didn’t suggest it yesterday.”

They shrug and pull on their guards without complaint. They’re in the thick of learning their new long program and Luke hasn’t introduced the throw yet. He has something in mind, but wants to see if they can do it off-ice before trying it on. He’s not completely sure if it’s possible, to be honest, but now is as good a time as any to find that out. If it works, it will be hard to beat them. 

“Let’s talk about the middle section,” he beckons them from their stretches at the barre to the bulletin board where he’s tacked up the sheets detailing their choreo. “After the footwork, you’re already traveling backwards to set up for the throw.” 

He points to the markings. “But what if you turned forwards and did an axel instead of a sal?”

Ben’s forehead creases immediately. “A throw axel?” 

“Sure,” Luke says it lightly. “Why not?” 

“But…” Rey starts to protest. “I can’t even do a triple by myself!”

“Could you with my help, though?” Ben’s warming to the challenge already. “Here, let’s try it.” He reaches for her hips but she shys away from his hands, looking between them. 

“Try a double first,” Luke advises as he drags a folding chair alongside the mirrors. “You already do side-by-side doubles, so you should be able to. Or just do a wally to get the hang of it - don’t worry about rotating yet. ”

They eye one another suspiciously before approaching each other. Ben fumbles with getting his grip right but after a couple tries, they fall into the footwork pattern leading to the axel and Rey flies a few feet from Ben, hopping backwards on her right foot after a half-turn in the air. Her arm flies up to check her body and she teeters as she holds an arabesque before dropping her free leg to the ground and shrugging at him. It’s not pretty, but it’s something. The forward jump entry is awkward when they’re used to traveling backwards into a throw. 

“Good!” Luke praises easily. “Again.”

Rey is still scowling but she moves back next to Ben to repeat the unfamiliar throw. 

Their movement is more fluid the second time and she manages one easy rotation in the air before landing, albeit on two feet. 

“Higher this time,” Ben murmurs as she returns to him. 

Luke strokes his beard as he watches them figuring it out. Rey’s tennis shoes make the smallest squeak as she hits the polished wood floor and Ben’s shirt darkens between his shoulder blades with the effort of throwing her on dry ground. It’s harder without the momentum of their movement on the ice and he knows he’ll have to stop Ben from overexerting himself. Once his nephew’s in the mood to learn something, he’s like a stray dog with a bone in his teeth. He trained to the point of injury with past partners, both theirs and his own, and Luke knows to intervene before it goes too far. 

Ben throws Rey higher and she lands further away, but she manages to get two rotations in before she stumbles to her knees on the landing. Rey dusts her hands off and there is a grim set to her mouth now as she returns to Ben’s side. 

“Are you alright?” Ben looks at her knee where it’s darkening through her tights with a spot of blood. 

“It’s fine,” Rey insists and fits herself to his body to try again. He hesitates, glancing at Luke before moving with her again. 

Luke decides he’ll let them try once more before they leave it for the day. 

Ben groans a little as he slings Rey even higher but her snap is quicker this time and she trips forwards on the landing, facing away from Ben. A half turn more, and she would have had it. 

“That’s it!” Luke shoots up from his chair to hug them but Ben’s quicker, scooping Rey up and hoisting her over his shoulders in a sloppy lift, twirling her around until her giggles cause him to lose his hold and return her to the floor in a messy release. 

Luke continues smiling but he can’t ignore the way Ben’s hand lingers on Rey’s arm before his nephew turns back to embrace him. Again he feels like he’s intruding but he stuffs the feeling down as he clasps Ben’s shoulders.

“That was good,” he repeats. “Let’s work on your footwork for a bit. I don’t want you to burn out on that too quickly.” 

_Or on each other_ , he prays silently. He catches them eyeing each other behind him in the mirror and it finally hits him, what he is afraid of. 

He’s out of his depth here. Romance was never in the cards with his sister as a partner, and he’s never had a lasting relationship. What can he possibly say to them, what warning would they possibly heed, when they know he doesn’t know what he’s talking about? 

One of his professors at the National Institute of Physical Sport had a saying. Well, the old man had a lot of sayings, as well as peculiar way of speaking where his word order suggested he was not delivering lectures in his native language. Some of them didn’t even make sense, like one physiology class where he kept referring to their flesh as _crude matter_ , and imploring the class not to judge him by his size. He carried a carved wooden cane and occasionally poked it at people’s shoulders or stamped it on the floor for emphasis as he spoke. A lot of Luke’s classmates rolled their eyes about the man, said he should be forced to retire, but Luke finds himself drawing on his teachings more and more often.

That professor is probably long dead, Luke realizes as sudden fit of nostalgia stabs through his heart. He had a saying about what it meant to be a teacher and Luke sighs deeply as he remembers it now, studying his students in the mirror. 

_We are what they grow beyond_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so is a throw triple axel a thing? Or is it like [the Pamchenko Twist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcMH5ntEWGQ) from The Cutting Edge? 
> 
> Yes, [throw 3A can be done](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5i_DGC74fA), but it's rare, and I don't know of anyone doing it in the 80s. (Skating fans, come at me! I'm ready to be told I'm wrong! XD) Several teams (Canadian, Chinese) have successfully competed other throw quad jumps (4 revolutions). 
> 
> [Figure skating jumps, explained](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKulecXlyFs) \-- US Olympian Jason Brown breaks down the 6 jumps
> 
> HMU on Tumblr @theafterglow-writes or on Twitter - @TheAfterglowwr1


	11. Chapter 11

The days grow shorter but the nights longer throughout the autumn. This far north Rey’s favorite season is always short. The leaves drop in drab piles on the grass of parks where children played only weeks earlier and the grey skies set in. 

They are inseparable now, Ben trailing her from the rink home to the dormitory, then lingering in her room until her roommate’s silent glares drive him to pull on his hat and coat as slowly as possible. Rey walks him to the front door and wraps her arms around herself as she watches him saunter away down the street. He has a distinct gait, a loping stride she would recognize a mile away. 

His mother works late most nights and so they retreat to his flat’s living room more and more often. They have a television and most importantly, privacy. When Leia does come home and catches them, she silently kisses them each on their hair and retreats to her bedroom to read. 

Rey supposes she expects a reprimand from the woman, the same slightly disapproving glances they catch from Luke. Instead her complacency feels like she’s given a blessing. 

His home is so different from any she’s ever known that sometimes she catches herself wondering if she’s fallen more for him, or for it. She loves it all: the feeling of the rugs beneath her bare feet, the bookshelves lined with real, hardcover editions, the way the light spreads over the square dining table beside the sliding door that leads out to a balcony. 

The way she feels when she catches Ben looking at her instead of the television. 

The energy between them is different now. She’s been able to sense when he was close for awhile now, but the air feels like it thickens when he draws near to her to nip at her neck, whisper in her ear, tickle her cheek with his whiskers. Her eyes fall closed and they weigh a stone each when he nuzzles her neck with his enormous nose. 

It makes her smile at her reflection in his bathroom mirror to recall how she hated his nose when they first met. 

Just like on the ice, he follows her lead when they decide they can’t wait any longer. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ben says as he perches on the edge of his bed. He looks very young gazing up at her as she lifts her loose t-shirt from her slender shoulders. 

“You won’t,” Rey promises. 

How can he hurt her in an act of love when she’s already black and blue everywhere from training? They’re in the best shape of their lives but like anything, Rey assumes this will take practice. She’s not naive enough to believe otherwise, and she is ready to put in that work.

His breath tickles as he presses his lips to her stomach and she holds her breath against the way her heartbeat pounds between her thighs. His hands caressing the backs of her bare legs make something pool at the bottom of her body. She can’t wait, can’t stand the nervous anticipation, but she’s frozen twisting her fingers in his stupid, gorgeous hair as his fingers catch the elastic of her underwear and he eases them off her hips. 

The material cools quickly once it’s puddled around her ankles and she presses her hands to his broad shoulders to steady herself. The heat is on for the entire apartment block already despite a mild fall and it’s warm, so warm in his room she feels a light sweat breaking out as he breaks her hold to lay on his back and shimmy his own hips free from his pants. 

She takes her place next to him and they kiss until she feels drunk with need and she pulls him over her. 

Figuring it out is like learning a new lift: where their hands go, how her leg wraps around him, is this..? Can I….? Is it okay? Or maybe I should-- 

And just like training, after a few minutes of fumbling they’ve got it, falling into each other like they’ve done it a hundred times already. 

Rey holds her breath against the strange sensation. She’s heard things from other girls, so she doesn’t expect it will feel good at first, but it certainly doesn’t feel _bad_. She’s so wet he slides in easily and aside from an unfamiliar twinge in her low belly, it just feels different. After a moment or two it starts to feel natural, the way a new step on the ice does when she gets out of her head and stops overthinking it. 

A tiny, nervous giggle escapes her at this thought and to her surprise, Ben looks wounded. She wraps her arms around his neck to draw him near and kiss away his hurt. 

“Am I funny?” His breath flutters at her ear and she giggles again at the ticklish sensation. 

“Of course not,” Rey breathes. She finds her hips are restless and want to move, to buck up against the pressure that’s mounting already. “You’re perfect.” 

His expression darkens when she tentatively presses up to meet his body and she recalls how she felt during their _Firebird_ \--like she has a magic to possess him, something secret and sacred that he would hunt her to capture. Ben responds in kind and her heart pounds at how deep inside she can feel his hard length. He bites his lips and strokes her cheek with his thumb. She can sense he’s holding back, going slow for her sake, and while it frightens her a little to imagine what it would be like if he didn’t, she already knows she will crave that one day. They’ve mimicked this push and pull between them for years already and yet the actual act is so much more alluring. His desire feels tender but dangerous, and she is overwhelmed to be its object. 

Her eyes fall closed and she turns her face to the side as he draws close and whispers words she’s never heard, ones thought she’d hear from another person. 

Everything in their lives is controlled and policed and planned, but this? 

This feels like rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know where to @ me! :) :) :) 
> 
> Did anyone watch any skating Nationals? January was Europeans, US and Canadian Nationals. The remaining competitions of the year (Four Continents Championship, Worlds) are shaping up nicely!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a very brief self-harm reference about an off-screen character in this chapter!

He is Romeo and she is Juliet. 

At least they make believe so every day from five-thirty until eleven on the ice, then from noon until two in the dance studio. 

Maz sheds a layer of fur to observe their progress twice a week from a perch on a metal folding chair. She still wears at least two sweaters and a turtleneck and Ben wonders, as sweat trickles down his back from lifting Rey, what else she might be wearing under all that bulk. Her glasses look like they weigh three kilo alone and she’s got a fistful of beaded necklaces around her neck that probably account for another five. 

She communicates in a non-verbal language when she observes their dance elements, her own fingers dancing to their music as Luke diligently rewinds the cassette tape over and over at her behest. Her gnarled hands mold their limbs, tilt their heads, perfecting her vision of them as the star-crossed lovers. 

The days are short and dark now with three months until Sarajevo. Nationals are right around the corner and technically they are doing well, having mastered the throw axel and even landed it in competition earlier in the fall. That element alone puts them a head above their competitors. 

To their surprise, it is their artistic mark that is not up to snuff and Maz has been asked to work with them.

“Who are these young people,” Maz asks them rhetorically during the first session. “On one hand, we have Romeo-- a youth who finds himself caught up in a duel with a rival, and opposite him, Juliet-- a young woman who finds herself in love for the first time with her family’s sworn enemy.”

They stand at attention in front of her looking at their reflections in the mirrors of the studio. 

“And yet, they are two who become one, light and dark, love and hate together.” Maz steeples her twisted fingers together and touches them to her lips as she studies them. “So must you be.”

Their eyes meet in the mirror for an instant before they nod in agreement. 

“Yes, Teacher.”

They practice and practice, but still they fail to satisfy her. This makes them nervous, and they find themselves with bronze medals around their necks at their second Grand Prix of the season. The smug look on the American team who won silver over them is unbearable and Ben retreats to his room after shaking off all attempts by his friends to celebrate after they are done competing. Rey looks forlorn but he waves her off.

“I just need to be alone. Go out,” he encourages her. “You don’t know when you’ll see your friends again.” 

She looks after him in the hallway but finally turns to go her own way. Her French friend is at this competition and he’s waiting for her downstairs.

He lies on the comforter in his warm-up suit, alone, staring at the ceiling.

His mood is black as his eyes slide over the decorative plasterwork at the top of the room. They still have Nationals and Europeans to come back before team selection is made, but this low placement puts everything at risk. 

All his family have talked about for the last six years is the Olympics. Before he left for whatever godforsaken battlefield the army sent him to this time, even Han would get in on it. 

Ben shifts onto his side now, remembering the last pep talk his father saw fit to give him before disappearing for years on end. He had been lying on his bed at their flat, listening to music, when Han had appeared at the door. 

_ “Hey, kid.” Han always appeared hesitant around his son and he hovered in the doorway. “You got a minute?” _

_ Ben just looked up from the magazine he was reading and folded one long arm behind his head by way of answer.  _

_ Han settled into his desk chair and surveyed the posters on Ben’s wall of the Soviet national hockey team without comment.  _

_ “It’s a shame about the Machine,” he said quietly. “Better luck to you and Natalia in Sarajevo, right?” _

_ Ben shrugged. He wanted to play hockey but his mom and uncle had insisted on him starting figures when he could barely walk. The repetitive, precise exercises had made him cry as a child when all he wanted was to fly over the ice, and he didn’t have the speed anymore to even dream of playing hockey at university, let alone on the national team. Now he was a show pony, a successful pairs skater with a good partner, Olympic hopefuls with a junior world title to their names. He missed Phasma’s bawdy humor, but Natalia was still small.  _

_ “Sure.”  _

_ “It’s important, Ben,” Han continued. “For you, for our family. For the country.”  _

_ A bead of irritation flamed up in his middle at this. It was the same line as always. Of course a military man like his father would keep repeating it, just as he did to his regiment before they shipped off. Layer on the false pride and the sense guilt to puff up chests, then off to the slaughter with us all.  _

_ “Remember how proud everyone was of your mom and uncle? Just twenty years after Yalta, coming back with an Olympic gold medal?” _

_ There are so many things Ben could say, but he never says them. About how Luke is miserable and never got proper treatment for the knee injury that ended their career. How lonely his mother is with her husband away all the time.  _

_ How he never wanted to be an artistic skater and got made fun of at school until he grew big enough to silence his bullies with his fists in the dirty snow outside the schoolyard. That his partner is so afraid of growing she never eats at all and cuts her own thigh with her skate blade to distract from hunger.  _

_ “I know, Dad.” It’s all he ever says.  _

It’s been over three years now and Han hasn’t come home, not once. Ben follows the news enough to know it’s bad over in Afghanistan but when he visits the church with his mother, he prays for them all to die so his father can just come home already. 

He thinks again of the promise Han made him. 

_ “Make it to the Games, and I will be there to see you,” Han said. “No matter what happens. They can’t refuse a leave of absence for a man whose son is making history.” _

Why does he even believe that anymore? He and Rey are so close to making it, but Han’s never even met her. Natalia was still his partner when Han was last home. 

He imagines what he would say if Han were in front of him. How he would introduce his father to her, the girl he loves. How Han would probably act shy at first, but then turn on his charm and Rey would say, “I don’t understand why you hate him? He’s a perfectly lovely man.”

And then, Han would bond with her, with  _ his _ Rey, and Ben would feel like a fifth wheel, the way he already does when his father is home and Leia is so incandescently happy it’s like they’ve forgotten he even exists. 

It’s enough to make him want to throw Nationals so that his nightmare can never become reality. 

The thought of that is enough to turn him face down into the pillows and he yells, the feathers muffling his rage and frustration. 

Not because he would disappoint Rey, or throw away everything Luke and Maz have taught them, or maybe never see his father again. 

He cries because he knows he’s too much of a coward to ever do something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I grade this chapter A... for Angst! 
> 
> The hockey team Han refers to is the 1980 Soviet team who [lost to the USA in Lake Placid](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ice_hockey_at_the_1980_Winter_Olympics). It was the end of the USSR's 5-Olympics winning streak. 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr @theafterglow-writes or on Twitter at @TheAfterglowwr1


	13. Chapter 13

_January 1984_

_Budapest_

The wake-up call comes well before dawn, before the sunrise backlights the spires and church towers across the skyline of the city.

“Thank you,” Luke murmurs as he replaces the heavy plastic receiver on its cradle, then he pushes upright from instinct lest he fall asleep again. It won’t be light for another hour but they have ice time this morning, ahead of the long program later this afternoon. 

After yesterday’s short, Ben and Rey sit in third. Luke stares at the water running into the basin until it steams before wetting the washcloth to razor the stubble from his neck. Third is workable, but not great. They have been inconsistent all season, were second at Nationals in December, now very possibly will be second or third at Europeans. 

It doesn’t exactly send a strong signal to the federation that they are ready to be Olympic champions. There is barely a month between today and the opening ceremony. 

In less than twelve hours, they will know if they are going or not. 

He holds the washcloth to his skin until it stings in protest, then lathers some shaving cream onto the area. His razor tugs at the tender skin but he stares steadily at his own reflection in the mirror, making even tracks over his throat. The meditative quality of the routine soothes him: he cannot rush this, just as their progress cannot be rushed. There’s no sense in them peaking before the Games. Their scores have been solid, even if their placements have not reflected that. The program looks good on them and the throw axel is spectacular.

When they land it, that is. 

He knows they can hit. They do most days in training when they attempt it, and he’s confident they can later today. It’s when they get in their heads, worry too much about expectations, that they doubt themselves.

They make the bus ride to the practice rink in silence, Rey with her chin tucked into her turtleneck of her practice dress and Ben with his hands stuffed in his warm up jacket’s pockets against the morning chill. Luke never goes anywhere without his fur-lined hat with flaps and his nephew’s eye rolling is not lost on him. 

“Your father gave me this,” Luke reminds him for the millionth time. “It’s my good luck charm.” 

Rey’s eyes give away her smile as Ben makes a disgusted sound at his mention of Han. The bus lurches to a stop at the curb and they disembark. The security guard checks their credentials and they are surprised to find themselves first on the ice. 

Luke doesn’t remark on how Rey laces and reties her skates three times. It’s a nervous habit she’s developed this season and Luke wants to break her from it, but that will have to wait. She’s come so far in the last three years it’s not worth bothering her about it right now. His friends don’t tease him any more about his orphan girl, not with them on the verge of making the Olympics and him cementing their family’s legacy in Soviet sports history. 

“Do you want to do a full run-though?” Luke asks them after they’ve made a few warm up laps on the freshly groomed ice. 

They glance at each other, surprised he would give them any option. 

“Might be good to save your strength,” he muses, stroking his beard. “No one is here to see it if you land things, anyway.” The ice monitor is standing a few paces away, a lonely volunteer stuck with the early morning shift on the last day of competition. 

“We can?” Rey sounds unsure of his tactic. “I mean, we have the whole patch to ourselves.”

“Let’s just practice the footwork,” Ben counters. “The big moves aren’t where we’ve been losing points. It’s the dance stuff, the choreo.”

Luke waves them away, delicately removing the lid from the Styrofoam cup of coffee he brought with him from the hotel lobby. He knows there’s nothing much he can say at this point that they haven’t heard before. They could repeat all his advice and criticisms in stereo for as many times as they’ve heard them. 

This is why, when he stands before them once more at the boards ahead of their skate in the afternoon, he merely says, “Show them. Show them you deserve to be there.”

Rey nods solemnly and Ben gazes somewhere just above Luke’s head into the audience as though he’s barely listening. 

“You’ve got this,” Luke repeats. “Now go.” 

They push back from the edge as one before turning forwards and taking a lap around the ice. A nice round of applause goes up from the spectators and they wave to the crowd as they settle into their opening positions at center ice. 

Rey’s Juliet dress is white at her neck and pale pink at the hem of her skirt, a hand-dyed masterpiece made especially for her by the costume designer at the state ballet. It looks gorgeous and makes a beautiful, striking contrast with Ben’s royal blue top and black pants.

Luke finds it hard to stay still as they fly around in front of him, but he knows keeping quiet is the best thing he can do. The stepwork sequence goes seamlessly and he bites his lips as Ben’s hands grip Rey’s hips to set up for the throw. It feels like slow-motion to watch them, to count silently with them as they travel back, back, back for three counts on their outside edges. Rey’s outside leg bends and they step forward as one, then she is flying above the ice, rotating too quickly to see and she lands, her inside knee bent so low he doesn’t think she can hang onto it. Her outside leg whips around to check her rotation, barely off the ice but it’s not two-footed, not that he can see from this distance. 

A spray of ice chips goes up from her toe pick and Luke can’t look, gasping in time with the audience but he opens his eyes a moment later when they break out in wild applause.

She is still upright and Ben has already caught her again, lifting her in front of him like she is his prize. Her arms are outstretched and she gazes down at him serenely, as though she hadn’t nearly just sat down on her landing. 

Luke exhales and his blood rushes in his ears as they sail through the rest of the program. 

When it is all over, they are European silver medalists for a second year in a row. Unlike last year’s fluke loss, they glow when they climb to their place on the podium, Ben holding Rey’s hand like a gentleman to step up before taking the big step himself. They look as proud as a young prince and princess ready to greet their subjects from their carriage. They beam as the ISU president shakes their hands then hangs the medals around their necks and Rey kisses the flower girls on their cheeks when they hand her a bouquet. 

Luke beams too from the side where he pumps the hands of the other winning coaches and a stream of well-wishers, then waits for the call in his hotel room after a round of drinks in the hotel bar. He pours another drink over the half-melted ice from the machine down the hall and stares at the television. 

The strangest memory of Rey floats through his memory just then. 

Early in their partnership, when things were still rocky, Luke told her she needed to be patient with herself. He can’t recall the exact context now, but the look in her eyes still haunts him. 

_Oh, I know all about waiting_ , she had replied.

It comes a little after eight in the evening. The federation chief’s guttural rattle would be recognizable anywhere even if Anatoly Ackbaridze didn't introduce himself. 

They hang up after a brief conversation and Luke goes to Ben’s room to let them know. He’s not even surprised when Rey answers the door wearing one of Ben’s t-shirts, so long it hits her mid-thigh. Thankfully she is wearing sweatpants with a makeshift bag of ice strapped over her thigh with an ace bandage, even though her shy look tells him he might’ve interrupted them somehow.

His nephew is close behind her and can’t hide his excitement. “Well?! What did they say?”

Luke looks between their anxious faces for a moment before busting out with a huge smile.

“You’re in!”

To his surprise, Ben steps around Rey and crushes him in a hug before he can even raise his arms. Ben’s been taller than Luke since he was thirteen and though he is normally a wellspring of unspoken emotion, it sometimes springs a leak. 

“Thank you, Uncle Luke,” Ben whispers against his hair. “For everything.”

“You did this,” Luke replies, surprised to find himself a bit choked up. “You both did.” 

Ben pulls away and Rey leaps into his arms with a delighted shriek. 

“Thank you, Luke!” Her eyes shine with tears of excitement and he thinks it might be the happiest he’s ever seen the orphan girl look. 

Back in his room, he dials a number he knows by heart. It is safer to make the call from a random room than from home.

“Your code, please?” A young woman with American-accented English asks. 

He repeats the numbers he’s had stashed on a card in his wallet for the last several years. 

_R2-D2_.

“Thank you, sir. One moment please,” she says pleasantly and Luke wonders as the line begins to sound an unfamiliar ringtone how many calls like this she takes per day. Ten? A hundred? Does she even know what she’s in the middle of?

“Hello?” The familiar sound of his contact’s voice comes across at last.

“They’re in,” Luke says simply. “They’re going.”

There is a long pause at the end of the line before his contact replies. “I knew you could do it. And how’s the weather?” The man sounds relieved and… _proud_. Luke allows a feeling of accomplishment to blossom in his middle. He did not let them down. 

“Stationary.”

Another pause, then a wry chuckle warms his ear. 

“We’ll bring an umbrella, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the Force be with you, whether you're self-isolating, sheltering in place, or otherwise! I hope this new chapter brought a bit of distraction from our scary world outside. Keep safe, readers!! 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr @theafterglow-writes or on Twitter at @TheAfterglowwr1.


	14. Chapter 14

_February 8, 1984_

_Sarajevo, Yugoslavia_

The chilly air beneath Kosevo City Stadium causes them to hop to keep warm despite their plush new national team gear. A sea of red and white amasses at their designated spot and they greet one another like old friends returning to summer camp after a year away. And some of them are. It’s easy to spot the repeat Olympians in this small crowd, the young men and women they’ve grown up seeing on television and whom they’ve been taught to revere as heroes of the state. Rey’s too shy to ask for autographs but Ben sticks out his hand to introduce himself. 

They may never get the chance again. 

The skies may be grey, but this small city ringed by mountains is humming with all the visitors from every conceivable place. It’s nothing like an international figure skating competition, where most of the host city is oblivious to them. Here they are pointed at, stopped by fans as they go between the bus and Zetra Ice Hall to practice, surrounded by likenesses of themselves and their friends on posters and billboards. People snap pictures of them as they stand waiting outside the hotel without asking permission first. 

“Can you believe all this?” Rey wonders at it and Ben can see Luke puff up with pride even as he repeats the tired party refrain about the excesses of the Games. 

It’s basically like home, but somehow better. Shinier. They are finally getting the recognition they deserve after three long years. After spending so much time training in isolation, it’s jarring to be around so many others just like them. 

They gather into loose groups by sport within their larger national crowds and Ben tips his chin at Bazine in greeting, who pretends not to see before she carefully places herself across the way so as not to come near him and Rey. That’s fine. They haven’t spoken in a year and things move on. 

The roar of the crowd in the stadium above them is such that he almost doesn’t hear it in the din, but the sound freezes him in his tracks. 

“ _Ben!_ ”

The sharp initial consonant echoes on the curved concrete but the timbre of the man’s voice is unmistakable. He hasn’t heard it in years and yet his insides turn to jelly at it. The man sounds angry, like Ben’s done something wrong, but it’s mixed with an affection that no amount of misbehavior can diminish. He whips backwards to stare at the entrance but doesn’t see anyone.

“Ben?” Rey tugs at his hand. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be right back,” he promises her and begins swimming upstream, threading his way through the hordes of athletes crowding to get into the stadium. 

He bursts back out of the tunnel, ignoring the polite volunteer in a regulation jacket who attempts to herd him back towards the opening ceremonies.

Spectators mill everywhere, bundled against the cold in hats and scarves and long overcoats. He darts through them, searching for the man he hasn’t seen in four years. Ben doesn’t stop to apologize as he bumps shoulders and nearly knocks a small woman wearing a Canadian maple leaf stocking cap to the ground. 

He finally spots the man by an overflowing trash bin, seated on the ground like a bum and holding out a tattered styrofoam McDonald’s cup for change. 

Ben’s stride slows as his mind goes a thousand places. _What is Han doing here? Why is he sitting there like that? Has he really_ not _been in the military all this time? Did he actually run away from them and all they had-- just to be homeless in another country?_

Ben finds he is suddenly very, very angry as he comes to stand in front of the man, his shiny new athletic shoes toe-to-toe with the man’s dirty boots.

But when the man lifts his head to meet his eyes, Ben’s lip quivers uncontrollably.

“Dad?!” It sounds watery to his ears and he knows he’s about to cry.

“Ben,” Han reaches up and grabs his hand, pulling him down into a crouch in front of him. “Listen to me--”

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Ben cuts in but Han continues, looking him right in the eyes.

“We’re here to rescue you. And the girl,” Han says this plainly but firmly. “Go compete. You earned the right to be here. But when it’s over, get yourselves alone. Someone I trust will be waiting. We’re watching you.” 

The words are almost lost in the shuffle of feet on concrete and the din of the announcer’s voice echoing off the structure around them. It seems to go quiet as Ben stares at his father’s grizzled face, wondering if this is real or if Han has come all this way to rave like a crazy person to his long-lost son. 

“But Luke…?” He manages to understand what Han is saying enough that questions start. “And what about Mom?”

“They know, kid,” Han pulls him close enough for their foreheads to touch. “They’ve always known.”

His father’s free hand comes up to touch Ben’s cheek then and it’s warm, much warmer than his own skin that’s been exposed to the winter air for the last hour. Han is wearing gloves with the fingers cut off but he can see they’re clean, part of a disguise. 

“I have to go,” Ben straightens up, pulling away.

He sprints back to the athlete delegation just in time to join hands with Rey as they walk out into the stadium. His heart is pounding.

“What was that?” Rey looks adorable but her eyes are worried. “Was that someone you know?”

“It was nothing,” Ben shakes his head. “Let’s go.”

Her gaze lingers on him as though she doesn’t believe him, then she turns forwards to begin waving to the crowd, playing her part perfectly.

* * *

By the time they skate to center ice for their long program, Ben’s nerves have calmed. The first day after seeing his father, he jumped out of his skin anytime anyone came near them. He stared at any fan that dared approach them for autographs, rerunning their polite small talk over and over to himself for any hint of identities other than _crazed skating fan_.

There are more of those than Ben realized. A lot more. 

As they strike their opening pose and he’s looking down at Rey as Romeo, pretending she is the girl he will give his young life to love, he feels curiously empty inside. Whether that’s from incredulity that they are finally, truly here at the Olympics with a chance for a gold medal or from a disappointment that they haven’t been rescued yet, he doesn’t know. 

They stand toe-to-toe with open palms touching, a textual reference Maz insisted on returning to several times throughout the program. He can feel Rey’s heartbeat against the flat of his hand but she doesn’t look nervous to him. 

He must look too serious because she smiles up at him and gives a cheeky wink just before the violins begin to fill the hall to the rafters. 

They push away from one another, skating backwards in a mirror pattern that forms a heart. The entire skate is filled with heart motifs - the way their hands join, the shapes they make with their blades, the way they look at each other - and it finally, finally clicks. They skate it the way it was meant to be, the way Maz envisioned it back in July.

They have the skate of their lives in front of thousands who can’t stay in their seats until the end, the audience rising to begin applauding a full twenty seconds before they slide back to center ice with Rey draped over Ben’s knee and he crouches over her before bending backwards himself in a show of fake death. 

The cheers go on for a full minute as they turn this way and that, waving and bowing to the crowd, and only begin to dissipate once they make it to the kiss and cry to await their scores. 

“Congratulations,” Luke smiles openly at them, for once not tempering his enthusiasm for their performance. “I knew you could skate like that.”

Rey glows at this praise and Ben hugs her to his side, not caring who sees. He glances at Luke over her head and his uncle meets his eyes steadily before turning them to the scoreboard overhead. 

Their marks are high--not as high as Torvill and Dean’s perfect artistic marks, but they’re up there and the ordinals that flash up next are what matters, anyway. 

And it’s a solid string of 1’s broken only by a lone 2 from judge number six. The audience gasps and then they’re on their feet again and so are Ben and Rey, Luke throwing his arms around them in a giant bear hug. Rey’s crying, he’s crying, photographers are clustered in front of them snapping and winding as fast as their hands can move. Their faces are forever frozen in a mask of shock and joy. 

It’s a blur from then until they stand atop the podium thirty minutes later as Olympic champions. The medal ceremony is as brief as they ever are, but the dam inside him breaks as they raise their country’s flag above their competitors and the Soviet anthem echoes in the building. Rey holds her hand over her heart and closes her eyes but her makeup makes streaks from the tears that flow freely down her cheeks. 

Ben looks down at the medal around his neck and feels like he can breathe to the bottom of his lungs for the first time in years. This is an ending of sorts, and he’s ready for the next unknown. 

* * *

Later they cluster with teammates in a huge corner booth at a bar near the Olympic village and toast each other until they are spilling precious alcohol on the worn wooden table. Ben’s tipsy but Rey looks like she might need to be carried out soon if they don’t leave. She’s so much smaller than him and never drinks so she’s in her cups after a moderate amount. 

He glances outside their circle and just as he’s about to turn back, he notices an older black man seated by himself at the bar. He’s dressed in American fan gear, a gaudy flag button-up shirt with a red, white and blue baseball cap. It’s outrageous but nothing stranger than Ben’s seen all week from fans. 

Then their eyes meet and the gentleman lifts his pint glass in greeting. The man’s eyes are kind but he holds Ben’s gaze a few beats longer than a casual observer before resting his glass on the bar once more. 

He lifts his in return and takes a slow, shallow sip of his warm beer. Time stretches out as he watches the man gather his belongings to exit the bar and then, Ben knows. 

It’s time. 

“Hey,” he pulls Rey close, bringing his lips to her ear where only she can hear him. “You wanna get out of here? We need to celebrate alone, too.”

“Ben!” Rey gives him a playful shove in the ribs. “Shhhh! People will _know_!”

He smiles down at her, indulging her drunken anxiety for a moment. “People already know, sweetheart.” He traces his fingertip down her adorable nose and chuckles as her eyes go wide with realization. 

“You think?” Rey is horrified and he presses his finger to her lips to still them. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “So let’s go back before our roommates get home. I have something special for you.” 

Her lips work in protest under his fingers but finally she nods _okay_ and begins to shrug on her coat. The regulation team jacket is a size too big, dwarfing her slender frame. He slips his stocking cap on her head and places a kiss where her forehead would be. 

It takes ten minutes of goodbyes before they finally exit onto the cold, snowy street. It’s past midnight but there are still revelers out, clusters of fans here and there. 

Ben turns them towards the village and he spots the man two blocks ahead, smoking a cigarette. He sees them and turns away to stroll slowly up the narrow lane. 

Rey is chattering now but Ben’s not really listening. His gloved hand is in hers and he’s keeping her upright as her alcohol-soaked limbs flail with her speech. The man keeps pausing so they can catch up and finally, when they’re within the same block, he pauses to look at a poster plastered on the side of a bus stop shelter. 

“Nice night,” he remarks casually as they pass behind him. “It’ll be good to get in from the cold.” 

Ben looks ahead and there’s an unmarked van parked at the end of the street blocking the sidewalk. It has no windows and from the exhaust he can see it’s running. The man falls into step just behind them now as if herding them forward and Ben realizes, he’s scared. They can’t take this back, and Rey doesn’t even know what’s happening. 

“What’s your name?” He hopes he sounds casual as he says this over his shoulder.

“My name’s Lando,” the man replies easily. It’s not a name Ben’s ever heard, but what does he know? He’s only known one thing his whole stupid life, and that’s skating. 

They’re six paces away when the van’s sliding door opens from the inside. Han’s crouched there wearing a ridiculous winter coat with a fur lining around the hood as though they’re in Siberia and not just Yugoslavia. Their eyes meet and Ben remembers this now, that his father has always been a bit of a card when he’s not toeing the line of authority. 

He wonders now if he even knows what his father is really like. If that was all an act. 

“C’mon,” Ben tugs Rey forwards but suddenly she’s as strong as he is and lurches back, away from him. 

“Ben, what is this?” She wrenches free and stumbles backwards without his support. 

He hops into the van beside his father and stretches out his hand to her. 

“Rey, come on! We can’t wait!” 

Lando is still behind her but is careful not to touch her.

“I can’t-- no, I can’t leave!” Rey stammers, hugging herself and shaking her head at him. “My parents, they might come back!”

“Fuck,” Han mutters under his breath. “Kid, do something--we gotta go!”

Ben stretches back out, bracing his hand on the doorframe to try to reach her. She trips forwards another couple steps but remains just out of his reach. 

“Rey,” he speaks plainly now. “Your parents-- they’re never coming back. You know that. It’s time to let the past die. Come with me.”

She shakes her head and suddenly she’s crying harder than on the medal podium, her face twisting in a graceless ugly cry. “No!” She shrieks now, her voice echoing off the surrounding buildings. “They hid me to protect me and they’re coming back for me! They said so!”

“ _Reyshenka_ ,” Ben repeats her nickname, hoping it will get through to her. “You know that’s not true.” He stretches out his hand, his palm open. “ _Please?_ I love you.”

She hesitates another moment that lasts a lifetime before she takes two running steps and gasps his hand. He pulls her to him as Lando storms forward, slamming the door shut and leaping into the passenger seat. 

“Lie down,” Han commands and throws a thick blanket over the both of them. 

The van is quiet aside from Rey’s muffled sobs against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Torvill & Dean (British ice dancers)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcCj0xfO3H8) really did get perfect artistic marks at the Sarajevo Games! The [6.0 scoring system](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/6.0_system) hasn't been used since the 2002 Olympic judging scandal, which lead to the current Code of Points or International Judging System (IJS) scoring method. 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr (theafterglow-writes) or Twitter (TheAfterglowwr1)


	15. Chapter 15

_August 1985_

The Pacific Ocean is vast.

It stretches away as far as they can see, clear back to the edge of the country they used to call home. They went to Japan for a competition once and touched the other side of the same ocean. Her mind warps to think of it. 

The park near their place reminds her of the island in her dream: a rock juts out of the middle of a verdant green and sea birds roost atop it. The local children try to climb it, try to get at their nests, but the sides are too steep and they fall back to the sandy pit around it before turning away in frustration. 

Their lives are in a different place now, but somehow the same. 

They rise before dawn to run along the beach until their hearts pound out of their chests before watching the sunrise. They feel soft now in comparison to their competition bodies but without Luke to push them, they’ve grown lazy. 

Classes don’t start at the rink until nine, and they’re no longer elites training before the snack bar pops its first batch of the strange American snack Rey can’t eat enough of. Popcorn. It smells of salt and butter and tastes like heavenly... air. It is a perfect snack for skaters. The teenagers who run the counter know her now and set aside a bag from the first batch that falls from the kettle. She keeps it stashed in her pocket all day to munch as she watches over her pupils. 

They settled here in California, away from winter and politics, and went back to the only thing they know. 

Ben balked at first, saying he never wanted to skate again. She understood but went to the rink alone every day anyway, gliding in shitty tan rental skates with a broken lace amongst the groups of teenagers. She finally convinced him to go with, just to _have fun_ , and eventually, he caved. When he stopped scowling at how loosely other people laced their skates and held her hand, she caught him.

“See, you still like it,” she said. “You’ve always liked it.”

He shook his head _no_ but she could tell he was playing. Even in rentals he couldn’t resist showing off a little with a series of tentative waltz jumps around her before sweeping her up against him. The session referee in hockey skates stormed up to them with his whistle between his teeth but when he recognized them he merely said, “Just… Go in the middle if you’re gonna do that stuff, okay?” 

“Misha didn’t come here and give up ballet,” she reasoned later as they did the dishes. “Why should we stop skating?”

Ben’s pointed look told her she was about to cross a line and she left it alone for the moment.

Today, she stands in front of her students for youth learn-to-skate and isn’t sorry she was so persistent. 

“Good morning, skaters!” She greets them with a smile. 

“Hello, Miss Rey,” they echo as one voice. They fidget on the ice, unable to keep their small bodies still as she lines them up along the boards to lead them in stretches. 

“That’s good,” she murmurs as she moves down the line, correcting their posture as they move through the routine she taught them. After all, good skating isn’t always just about the skating. Their whole selves need training if they expect to glide and jump with ease later. 

Ben scoffed at her technique at first, saying she was being _too hard_ on them, that they’re _just kids_ and _not everyone’s an Olympian_. Now she sees him doing the same out of the corner of her eye. He’s across the ice, working with a young singles boy, and she catches him making the same corrections. 

And he’s right-- not that she’d ever tell him that-- most of them won’t skate for more than a few years as kids. She knows they’re the odd ones.

So she lines them up around the nearest hockey circle, sets their arms, and tells them to begin warm-up strokes. She reaches into her pocket for her first handful of popcorn of the day and catches Ben’s eye when he looks away from his student. He holds her gaze long enough that she flushes a little before looking back to her students.

She glances up at the flags hanging from the rafters in the rink: the American stars and stripes, a Canadian maple leaf, and the Olympic rings. The fabrics move in the slight breeze of the ventilation system, a touch faded from the light streaming in through the skylights that let in the relentless sun. 

Rey knows it doesn’t matter what flags wave over them. 

Wherever they are, they are home here on the ice. 

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I've loved writing this and hope you've enjoyed reading just as much. 
> 
> The "Misha" Rey references in this chapter is OFC [Mikhail Baryshnikov](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mikhail_Baryshnikov). 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr (@theafterglow-writes) or Twitter (@TheAfterglowwr1)


End file.
